


Hands

by prettyboyporter



Series: Harringrove ficlets [10]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 07:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21352318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: “Billy.Sweetheart,” Steve says. He can hear the five musical tones ofClose Encountersrepated over and over as he kisses Billy again and again, Billy’s lips hot and responsive, his tongue licking against Steve’s, and forever he’d be sweet on that tune. Always it would make him think of Billy bouncing back, Billy falling into himself, his mind rejoining his body and being bold and telling Steve tocome a little closer.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harringrove ficlets [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222898
Comments: 20
Kudos: 155





	Hands

The kids are fucking loud. Even Steve’s superior speaker system can’t top six fourteen-year-olds jacked up on Halloween candy and chocolate, surrounded by an ocean of discarded wrappers as they’re sardined up on Steve’s couch. 

_Close Encounters of the Third Kind_ plays mostly unwatched as the kids chatter, one voice talking over another, like it was a contest where whoever could be the loudest would be the winner. 

In that contest, Steve thinks, Henderson might be winning. 

On the floor next to him, Billy shifts. He’s leaning against the side of the couch, Steve on his other side. “My goddamn ass is going numb,” Billy says. 

Billy’s wearing a black t-shirt that has skeleton ribs wearing a bow tie on it, his idea of a joke because _I was dead, Harrington, get it_. His hair is freshly cut – smells a little like hairspray and a little like Obsession.

There’s a new golden ring on his index finger, a simple, smooth band. 

It’s definitely an improvement from three months ago. Steve recalls the version of Billy who hadn’t washed in weeks, long hair starting to mat up. He wore his bed like a shield protecting him from below – like a barrier under him – until he was ready to rejoin the world, battle scars on display.

“Here, let’s,” Steve says and shifts back so that his back is pressed to the side of the couch, armest above his head. Billy follows suit and settles against Steve. 

Steve leans into the warmth of Billy’s side. He starts to feel a little drunk on Billy’s cologne. Billy spreads his legs open a bit. Their thighs are pressed tight.

“That a new ring?” Steve says. He reaches out and touches it – feels the smooth metal under his finger. 

“Yeah,” Billy says. He pushes his hand up on top of Steve’s thigh. “Like it?” 

“Fuck,” Steve says. It’s the wrong response, and it’s _breathy_. “ I mean, uhm.” He reaches down to trace the metal with his index finger, followed by his middle finger – lets his index finger slide up over the bump of Billy’s first knuckle. Then the second. “It’s nice.” 

Billy’s hand flexes on Steve’s thigh.

Steve slowly, delicately, laces his fingers through Billy’s. 

Billy’s fingers twine around Steve’s. 

The armrest above their heads blocks Henderson’s view and Henderson’s shouting over Sinclair, _That is *not* what I fucking said and you know it, Lucas, take that shit back_, some arguement that will mean nothing in 120 seconds, and Billy’s hand is warm against Steve. Billy turns his hand around so that their palms are facing each other and laces his fingers through Steve’s. 

Steve presses his lips to the back of Billy’s hand, delicate bones and skin with little scars against his lips. Little veins there underneath, Steve knows, that ran black at one point. 

Billy watches him from under long lashes. “Come a little closer, pretty boy.” 

And Henderson, two feet away, might as well be three football fields when Steve leans over to place a soft kiss to Billy’s lips – to feel Billy’s breath on his cheek. 

“Billy. _Sweetheart_,” Steve says. He can hear the five musical tones of _Close Encounters_ repated over and over as he kisses Billy again and again, Billy’s lips hot and responsive, his tongue licking against Steve’s, and forever he’d be sweet on that tune. Always it would make him think of Billy bouncing back, Billy falling into himself, his mind rejoining his body and being bold and telling Steve to _come a little closer_.

While the kids slept downstairs on that Halloween night, in the confines of his room, Steve’s hand is on top of Billy’s as he positions himself and laces his fingers through Billy’s as he pushes in slowly – takes Billy apart bit by bit. 

Much later, when the sky is turning midnight blue to light purple, sticky with sweat and come, they start to lose energy. Billy lounges on Steve’s chest, playing with Steve’s fingers. 

Slowly, he tugs the gold band off of his index finger and slides it onto Steve’s.

**Author's Note:**

> prettyboyporter on tumblr


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